


Guys are Fightin’, Bleedin’, Fallin’

by snippinwhippen



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt No Comfort, Minor Violence, Refuge :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28591392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snippinwhippen/pseuds/snippinwhippen
Summary: A scab, that’s all he’ll ever be. But why? What excuse could be given? None, apparently._______Wanted to try writing Tommy Boy, and this warm up piece occurred.
Kudos: 6





	Guys are Fightin’, Bleedin’, Fallin’

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in like 5 minutes so don’t worry about any mistakes! I’m tired and I haven’t had dinner yet, so here’s something angsty

Material was not important to him. It was something that could be lost and found, bought and sold, broken and repaired. Nothing could have convinced him to sell out his brothers, nor put their lives at risk. But to send a threat, a threat that was guaranteed to follow through and end with failure and despair? That was where he would draw the line, whether or not that meant moving forward, or taking a step back. Just a day ago, he would never have believed himself if he had said he’d take the deal. Jut a day ago he would have sold his life to his brothers. But they could not sell their life for his. If he had heard he would stand here now, receiving furious glances and tensed fists, he would have laughed and thought of it as a tale. 

Just a few hours ago, it would have meant nothing to him if a stranger were to offer enough money to provide him for life, so long as he could stay with his brothers. However his life was not that easy. It would never be that easy. Now threatened with the capture of his family, and the grief that was bound to fill him, it meant everything. Now, as Tommy Boy stood in front of his friends, face tense as he urged the tears to stay at bay. As he stood defiantly against his very own brother, Jack Kelly. Tommy Boy, their stoic and quiet brother, rebelling against the family he was brought up with? It was not something they would have expected, but everyone changes.

He could remember the day he left that god awful island, the island that left him trapped in poor mining towns and coal mines. The months he spent at sea, nursing his head and his churning stomach. That now forgotten joy that had sparked in him as new land came into view, his new home. But he could never forget that blinding smile of one boy, who had offered a hand and a home to stay in. Even as he was mocked for his foreign voice, and the tricky words he pronounced, this was home. Clearly, he had just officially been ‘kicked out’.

Now, as Jack Kelly stood in front of him, with obvious fury coursing through his veins, and words spilling from his mouth, he could feel that familiar pull he had felt when he first arrived in America. It was that sweet little tug, that would send you sprawling into the pavement, left to weep and treat his own injuries. The whispers from around him hurt, but he knew they were true, he was a sellout. A scab. A traitor. Now, as he turns away from Wiesel, and throws down his papers, he can only feel that spreading numbness someone could only fabricate. He was their doom, and only he knew it.

Returning back to the lodging house once he had thrown down his papers was terrifying. Even as they ignored him and pushed him away, there were always that select few that were merciless. Taunts, mocks, insults? If he deserved them, he got them. He listens, sick, as they beg him for a reason. To explain why he had betrayed them. He couldn’t stomach the idea of telling what he himself was told. He would not fly too close to the sun. Not this time.

That dreadful night, himself drenched and dripping after he was left outside in the rain, ignored by his friends, he couldn’t ignore those mutters. Those, he once considered friends, hawking about how they expected better. How they deserved better. Especially from their little drummer boy, Tommy Boy. He had scowled, tears burning at his eyes as he prevented them from trailing down his cheeks. It wasn’t long before he decided to leave, throwing the old ratty blanket away from him. It was silent as he walked through the rows of beds, and it remained blissfully quiet as he stepped out through the door. Back into that dreadful rain.

As he watches mournfully now, hiding away from his brothers as they begin their day, the second day of the strike, he feels tears prick at his sullen eyes yet again. He thought he’d cried them last night. Cringing, he adjusted his seat on the rickety roof, vines brushing against his hands, with the wood creaking as he jostled. They look so much happier, youthful, so so kind and warm without him. Just like they were years ago, when they pulled him off that boat. Today was the day they would find out the reason, and for whatever deity he could think of, could they please forgive him. Even as the bulls attacked, and cries dwindled, they hadn’t scrapped together a single idea. A single excuse for his behaviour. That night, he cried yet again, now stuck in the refuge, knowing that they would never come find him. He may be a sellout, but they would never find out the reason why.

So who was that person at the window? Asking for him?


End file.
